


aspirant

by spookykingdomstarlight



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Solo: A Star Wars Story (2018), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Antagonistic Relationship, Captivity, F/F, Injury Recovery, Kissing, Minor Breathplay Elements, Morally Ambiguous Character, Pining, Post-Rogue One, Post-Solo: A Star Wars Story, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, minor D/S elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-26
Updated: 2018-08-26
Packaged: 2019-06-26 13:39:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15664305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spookykingdomstarlight/pseuds/spookykingdomstarlight
Summary: Jyn was incandescent in her rage and hurt. And Qi’ra, who’d lived through her own rages, her own hurts, wanted so desperately to touch those feelings again, remind herself what it was like, show Jyn that there was life after the end of the rage and the hurt.





	aspirant

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rosecake](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosecake/gifts).



All sorts of interesting things washed up on Crimson Dawn’s shores these days, a happy side-effect of a galaxy-spanning war fought between fools and cynics. It suited Qi’ra well to play both and if, perhaps, she was a bit kinder to the Rebels who sought the hyperfuel and weapons necessary to keep themselves limping along, well. It was only because she was a student of history and knew that across the stretch of long years, independent-minded criminals fared better under corrupt democracies than corrupt dictatorships.

If she wanted to hop permanently into bed with a monster, she wouldn’t have killed Dryden. And she wouldn’t have raised a private toast to herself upon hearing of Maul’s demise on Tatooine, glad she hadn’t had to orchestrate it herself. Before he’d disappeared on his half-cocked vendetta, he’d told her what Palpatine was, what Vader was. And she wanted no part of that if she could help it.

If the Empire survived, she would have to make that decision one day. Serve them or die.

Republics, though? They were kinder to the criminal classes. And their leadership—if the Alliance won—would remember what Crimson Dawn had done for them while it was inconvenient to help them. She would make sure of it.

Now, though, she had a conundrum on her hands.

Before her sat two pads. A bounty on the one and a missive of condolences on the other. The first was a public Holonet transmission. The Empire wanted confirmation of one Jyn Erso’s death and, given the bounty, they wanted it desperately. On the other was an internal communiqué from the Rebellion. It presupposed Jyn Erso’s death, served as a memorial to her and the sacrifices she and many others made in liberating the Death Star plans.

The only problem was this: Jyn Erso wasn’t dead.

Purportedly.

“You pulled her from Scarif, you say?” Qi’ra asked, deliberately slow. There was a woman recovering in the _First Light’s_ infirmary, brought to her by one of her more insightful scavengers, Narith. He stood before her now, hands curled before him, head bowed slightly in deference. This wasn’t something she required of him, of course, but there was no stopping him and she did not ask him to. She’d learned never to take others’ fear or respect for granted. “How do you know it’s her? A lot of people died on Scarif.”

Narith’s hands unclasped and suddenly there was a rock clattering across her desk. Qi’ra didn’t flinch, though her guards’ armor clanged and scraped as they shifted positions, their weapons raised. She lifted her arm to still them. It was a bold gesture on Narith’s part, but he’d always known the boundaries. One day, perhaps he would try something. And on that day, she would kill him if she had to and she would only mourn the loss of a good worker.

Qi’ra hooked a finger through the leather cord that rock was attached to. Clear-to-milky, it looked like nothing special. “Trust in the Force,” she murmured to herself as she read the elegantly scripted Aurebesh engraved into it. “This is kyber, but it proves nothing except that she was perfectly willing to flaunt Imperial edicts.”

It was, however, a start. Something she could take to one of her Alliance contacts.

“Thank you, Narith,” she said, cool as the kyber in her palm. “You’re dismissed.”

*

The medical bay on the _First Light_ was as comprehensive as it was state of the art. Qi’ra herself hadn’t needed to impose upon its doctor or the medical droid, not beyond a few scrapes here and there, but she hadn’t had it gutted when Dryden was killed. Everything could be made useful in its time. No point in throwing anything away. And there was no telling when she might find herself requiring services similar to the ones Dryden had regularly needed.

She swallowed, hand pressed against the open doorway as the droid puttered about the private room. He muttered to himself, vocoder pitched low and scratchy, and it was endearing even though she’d never understood how he hadn’t annoyed Dryden into decommissioning him. Even so, from the way the woman on the bed was glaring at him, she was probably wondering the same thing without knowing the specifics.

The woman’s eyes snapped to Qi’ra’s, harsh and fiery. In that moment, all Qi’ra wanted to do was get burned in them. “Where am I? Who are you?”

“This is the _First Light_ ,” Qi’ra answered, calm and steady as she allowed herself finally to step into the room. “I’m Qi’ra.”

“Names I don’t know are useless to me. Who _are_ you? What planet is this?”

Hiding a twitching, unhappy smile, Qi’ra ducked her head. Jyn Erso had been a Partisan, but maybe she hadn’t been around during the worst of the syndicates’ struggles with them. Or was too young. And even then, Qi’ra hadn’t yet taken on such an important role as she had now. Jyn Erso would not necessarily know of Qi’ra.

Or maybe this woman wasn’t Jyn Erso. “You mean what am I, then.”

“If that will make you answer the question, then sure. What are you?”

Jyn, if this was indeed Jyn, had no fear in her. Maybe Scarif had sheared it away in the conflagration. Though there was little evidence of it on her face, her body was no doubt riddled with scars. Bacta treatments could do many things, but they couldn’t erase the evidence of that blasted—Qi’ra winced even as she thought of it, poor choice of words—planet on her skin, not entirely. “I’m Qi’ra of Crimson Dawn.”

Qi’ra waited for a sign of recognition from Jyn, a sign that she gave a damn about that name at least.

Jyn’s head relaxed back into her pillow. “Crimson Dawn isn’t so bad,” she said, musing.

That piqued Qi’ra’s interest and drew a raised eyebrow out of her, but Qi’ra was patient. She could wait for an explanation on that score. And yet there was one thing about which she couldn’t bring herself to remain quiet. “And you’re Jyn Erso, is that correct?”

Jyn froze, almost too quick to notice, but enough for Qi’ra to be certain now even if she never received any other confirmation. Though, of course, she intended to get just that. It was nice to know Narith wasn’t wrong though, that her trust in him had been rewarded. The real Jyn Erso will be useful to Qi’ra somehow, much more so than a random survivor. It was only a matter of time before it became entirely clear just how.

“You needn’t answer if it’ll make things awkward for you,” Qi’ra said. Pulling the pendant from her trouser pocket, she smiled. “But I believe this belongs to you.”

A war raged in the quick-flash twists of unhappiness, disappointment, fear, disgust that crossed her face. Each emotion lingered for only the barest of moments, but Qi’ra caught them all because she knew Jyn even without knowing her.

She was Jyn in another life.

It was a taunt, the pendant, and they were both well aware of it. And Jyn resented her for forcing this choice on her. Deny herself? Or deny the only thing in her life that mattered? Keep the veneer of a secret or give in to Qi’ra?

Qi’ra wasn’t sure which option she found more intriguing and she waited, hungry, for her answer.

Finally, Jyn’s hand shot out and tore the pendant from Qi’ra’s grasp. The leather burned and cut into Qi’ra’s skin, but she didn’t mind, not in the slightest. The sting soothed itself to a dull ache and finally subsided. Looking at her palm, all she saw was a thin, red line.

“What happened?” Jyn asked, far more quickly than Qi’ra expected. There was misery in her voice, guilt, hatred. These were things Qi’ra could use, could shape. In so many ways, Jyn seemed more mature than even Qi’ra was. And in others, she was every inch the twenty-one year old woman who’d found her way to the _First Light_. Her arrival wasn’t so very different from Qi’ra’s. “Where are the others?”

Loyalty. Qi’ra could appreciate loyalty.

She didn’t think she could use Jyn’s loyalty to these people though, so she didn’t bother trying. “We found no sign of them on Scarif.” It was harder to admit than she cared to consider, not least of all from the way Jyn collapsed into her grief as she spoke the words. A lump formed in the back of her throat just to witness Jyn’s misery. Impossible to swallow around, it nearly choked her. Looking away, she drew in a steadying breath and continued, forcing herself to resume gazing at Jyn. “I haven’t even been able to figure out why we were able to find you, why you survived when half the planet was destroyed.”

Hatred flared in Jyn’s eyes, that grief again. Everyone she cared about was gone. She had nothing and no one.

Qi’ra’s shoes clicked against the unforgiving floor as she approached the bed. Hooking her foot around the doctor’s chair nearby, she sat.

“Why were you looking for me?” Jyn’s words held such an acid-bite that they might have corroded steel if they were capable of it. A fire consumed her and made her so much bigger than her diminished, injured stature suggested.

“I wasn’t,” Qi’ra replied, cool. This much was true. She’d issued no edict to bring back Jyn Erso from the brink of death. Before today, she wouldn’t have given even a single thought to her and didn’t so much as know her name. And now she had to decide whether Jyn was worth the trouble or not. “I don’t care about you, Jyn Erso.”

Jyn snorted, distracting herself from mourning if only for a brief moment. Perhaps that was a good sign. “Do you believe what you’re saying, Qi’ra of Crimson Dawn? Or is this just what you’re expected to say?”

The question didn’t take Qi’ra aback nearly as much as it would have earlier in her career, when she hadn’t figured out the answer for herself. Oh, she believed all right. She’d proven time and time again that she believed everything she said and did. No matter how heinous, she believed. And she did.

“You spent too long with the Rebellion,” she settled on, an admonishment, “if you’re questioning a criminal’s motivations in the hopes of finding more underneath them.”

Searching Qi’ra’s face, Jyn found it in herself to sneer. It almost made Qi’ra proud. “Is that all you are? A criminal?”

“I’m significantly less than a foolish Rebellion hero, I can tell you that much.” Qi’ra backed toward the door. “Rest, Jyn. We’ll discuss what’s to happen to you once you’re well.”

It was a coward’s admission. By rights, and with so many others, Qi’ra would have issued her demands whenever she pleased. They could have been bleeding out and she would have turned the screws a little further, waited to save them until they agreed to her terms. Qi’ra didn’t even have terms for Jyn yet. And she hadn’t managed to stay away.

She should have.

Because as soon as she stepped into the hallway, finally alone, she had to admit to herself that nobody in a very, very long time had made her stomach tighten the way Jyn Erso did. The heat, the flutter, the thrill. It was almost brand new for how unfamiliar it was.

Swallowing, she closed her eyes, willed the feeling to dissipate.

It didn’t work, but she gave herself credit for trying.

*

The _First Light’s_ medical bay housed a small gym, private, nothing anyone would know about. It had been used solely for Dryden’s own needs and physical therapies. Now it was being put to use on Jyn’s behalf. Qi’ra watched Jyn’s progress from the door, her attention occasionally drifting around the room, curious. She’d never been allowed in here while Dryden was alive and though she’d entered it since his death—she’d searched the ship top to bottom as soon as he was gone, discovered its every secret, found herself glad that she’d killed him because there was so much he hadn’t told her—she’d never been here to see it put to use.

It was as beautifully appointed as the rest of the ship, trimmed in golds and painted in shades of red. Perhaps not the most soothing atmosphere, but so very Dryden that a phantom of an ache almost takes hold of her. Qi’ra watched Jyn closely after that. If necessary, the room could be changed. Perhaps blues and silvers. Or green. Qi’ra liked green.

She had no idea what Jyn liked. Or even if she cared. Spitting imprecations at the droid trainer currently urging her forward, she didn’t seem to notice what the rest of the room looked like. The droid gripped her arms tightly as she walked on unsteady legs with an uneven gait. When she stumbled, its body rocked fluidly with her, helped get her balance back under her without missing a beat.

Qi’ra winced when Jyn cried out in pain and dragged gasping breaths into her lungs. She didn’t seem to notice Qi’ra’s presence or care about it. The entirety of her focus was on walking across the floor.

The droid used to speak encouragements to Dryden or discuss his favorite wines and music, a distraction from the pain and tedium of the work. Jyn must have told him to shove it, because he remained silent, even when it would otherwise have asked how she was doing.

There was something admirable in that, Qi’ra felt.

Quietly, Qi’ra took a seat, a bout of nerves crawling around her insides. She had no reason to be worried if Jyn saw her here—and she would, it was only a matter of time before she reached her goal and turned—and yet, she didn’t want to anger or frighten Jyn.

If she insisted to herself that it was only because an angry or frightened Jyn wouldn’t be nearly as tractable as one who trusted her, that was her business.

“It really is remarkable,” she said, once Jyn finally did turn. She didn’t look angry or fearful, just exhausted, a sheen in her eyes from the pain. Hollow, Qi’ra might have thought, though she neve would have said anything. “Your dedication.”

“Fuck you,” Jyn said.

Qi’ra couldn’t deny to herself that it was tempting thought. Jyn was everything Qi’ra could have hoped to find in another person. Smart, tenacious, loyal, and willing to do whatever it took. Most importantly, maybe, she came with a leash that Qi’ra could easily tug on. Crimson Dawn could use people like her.

Qi’ra, specifically, could use people like her.

Jyn was incandescent in her rage and hurt. And Qi’ra, who’d lived through her own rages, her own hurts, wanted so desperately to touch those feelings again, remind herself what it was like, show Jyn that there was life after the end of the rage and the hurt.

Smiling, Qi’ra stood and brushed her hands across her thighs. She didn’t miss the way Jyn’s eyes dipped, transfixed, by the motion of her perfectly manicured fingers. The deep, almost black color of her nails hid the truth: sometimes, sometimes this was a bloody business. Sometimes, you could scrub your skin for hours and not wash away the blood and viscera.

At least it seemed that way.

“Is there anything I can do for you?” Qi’ra asked, making her voice as sweet as she could manage that Jyn might still buy as genuine. “To make your stay more comfortable?”

Jyn’s chin tipped up. Her hand, trembling, brushed her sweaty bangs off of her forehead. “Let me go.”

Qi’ra’s smile widened. That was the one thing she would not do. Not yet. Maybe one day. But possibly not ever. She hadn’t yet decided. “I’m afraid that’s not how this works, but if you’d like, you can be moved to private quarters. Doctor Ithilis says you’ve improved dramatically since arriving here.”

“How very kind of you.”

“It’s not a kindness.” And Qi’ra realized too late that the frustration in her tone might convey far, far more than she wanted it to. It was impossible to convey the true extent of Qi’ra’s reasons for keeping Jyn here. Some of it was pragmatism. The less Jyn knew, the better. And some of it she just couldn’t articulate without giving pieces of herself up. And that, she wouldn’t do. In warning, she added, “You’ll be under guard. We have reprogrammed KX—”

“No.” The color leeched entirely from Jyn’s face as she spoke. She looked as though she might throw up. The droid reached out and grabbed hold of her arm. To Qi’ra’s surprise, she didn’t brush the touch aside. “Absolutely not. Anyone else, but not…”

Qi’ra’s brow furrowed. She hadn’t intended this as a tactic to get Jyn to agree to Qi’ra’s terms and didn’t entirely understand why Jyn could capitulate at all instead of arguing about being under surveillance to begin with. Her KX droids were excellent guards and would keep Jyn as safe as it kept the rest of them from Jyn.

But Qi’ra knew when she’d reached her limits with another person, knew when the negotiations would entirely break down if she didn’t concede the point. Sometimes, she pushed it anyway. This time, she couldn’t. It was too important. All the same, she kept her tone cold, clinical, making it sound very much as though Jyn had chosen the worse option even though Qi’ra saw no difference one way or the other. “One of my personal guards, then.”

Jyn relaxed visibly, the tension bled from her face and left her looking only a little sick. “Very well.”

“Arrangements can be made as soon as you’re ready. Just let the doctor know and he’ll make sure you have the assistance you need. You’ll be allowed access to all of the public areas as long as you have supervision with you.” Hoping to get a reaction, she added, “You’ll be expected to wear a tracking device at all times as well.”

Anyone might have complained that she was treating Jyn with special favor. And anyone might have been correct. But she knew, at least, that nobody would see fit to question her order. Her people knew their place. And goodness knew Dryden had allowed himself a soft spot or two.

That was how, for good or ill, Qi’ra had even gotten here.

Nodding, curt, Jyn drew her attention inward, rubbed absently at her side and grimaced. The droid hovered and irritation grew on her face as Qi’ra watched. She should have gone, left them to their devices, but Qi’ra found herself unwilling to part on such chilly terms. Only she didn’t know how to fix it. With her skills she could control situations, but that didn’t translate to connecting well with people, not in the small, personal way she craved right now.

Not even when she was younger was she any good at it, even when it would have helped her with the White Worms to have generated some friendly camaraderie with the other scrumrats.

At least back then she’d had Han to help fill in those woeful gaps.

She said nothing else as she turned away, a feeling of foolishness and helplessness washing over her. As relentless as the tide, it threatened to drag her out to sea and leave her bereft.

Who was this woman to do such a thing to her? Leave her this off-balance?

There was nothing else for it, she decided as she returned to her office. She had to make a decision about Jyn Erso and fast. As much as she hated doing anything rashly, she hated this uncertainty more. Retrieving her pads from the secured drawers of her desk, she perused the Imperial bounty with more intent than she’d shown it previously.

It would, if nothing else, be the expedient option.

*

A portable holoprojector sat on the corner of Qi’ra’s desk, the _First Light’s_ schematics outlined in blue, flickering and twisting lazily as she watched. A single, solid blue dot floated in one corner of the image. It shifted every so often, back and forth across a single room, not pacing exactly, but something not far from it.

Jyn had been given free rein of the place—within reason—but she hadn’t yet chosen to take advantage of that fact. Her meals continued to be delivered and she only left it to go to physical therapy or take a dip in the bacta tank.

Qi’re kept tabs on Jyn’s progress, of course, but Jyn hadn’t come to her, not even out of boredom nor even anger.

Qi’ra had half expected it every day. And every day that passed, she was more disappointed.

No, disappointed wasn’t the right word for it. It was so much more complicated than that, this knot in her chest that couldn’t be untangled. She would have to cleave the thing in two with a vibroshiv if she wanted to undo it, but who was to say it wasn’t the single thing that held her together?

A knock on the door startled her from her thoughts.

“Come,” she said, expecting nothing. Without looking, she knew her guards straightened up just that little bit more in response. Their hands gripped their blades more tightly. Beneath their helmets, their eyes narrowed. They were well-trained and protective. She’d handpicked each and every one of them, had fought them until they could defeat her themselves.

It was only trust that kept her from killing them all. If it wasn’t a matter of necessity, she would rid herself of them entirely.

This was the life she’d chosen. This was the price. She wrapped herself in finery and power and locked herself in a cage to keep it.

And she might well be surrounded by people, but it was a damned lonely existence.

“Qi’ra.” It was Narith again. He bowed his head respectfully. Her guards eased up.

“What news?” She was so very tired though she could not allow herself to show it. A brittle smile crossed her mouth. He would never know that it was a fraud. Nobody would know.

He stepped toward her desk, slow, always slow, broadcasting each motion to avoid startling her or her guards. She wasn’t entirely sure why he did it, but she found it reluctantly charming. Taking the pad from his outstretched hand, she read the missive he carried.

“Imperial Security is increasing the reward for information regarding the whereabouts of the traitor, Jyn Erso,” she began reciting. “So they now believe she still lives?”

“Apparently.”

“Have Imperial investigators started snooping around Scarif?”

“It’s blockaded now, ma’am.”

“Ah.” Qi’ra shouldn’t have been surprised by this news and it shouldn’t have made her as angry as it did, but oh, how surprised and angry she was. What did they want with her now? For all they knew, she was disintegrated in the blast that destroyed half of the planet.

“Keep reading, ma’am.”

Fighting the urge to roll her eyes childishly, she did as Narith instructed. _Anybody found to have information about her who hasn’t come forward within three standard days from transmission of this message will face the same charges of treason and all associated punishments that she faces_. “I would hope you didn’t leave any hint as to your identity behind when you found her,” she said despite the sudden ache in her chest. If the Empire found out about Narith, they would find out about Qi’ra, and even though Qi’ra could fight them—would, until the death if necessary—that didn’t mean she wanted to. “That would be very inconvenient to you, becoming an accessory to the destruction of the Citadel and the Death Star.”

“I think it would be very inconvenient to you also,” Narith replied, not unfriendly, but merely stating a fact. If he was caught, so was she. Even if he wanted to withstand Imperial torture for her—and she didn’t believe his loyalty ran quite that deep—their techniques would have broken him eventually.

The Empire always got what it wanted in the end.

“Thank you for the information, Narith,” she replied, cordial. “I will take it under advisement.”

His gaze dipped to the floor as he inclined his head again. “For what it’s worth, I’m very good at covering my tracks if you would rather not involve the Empire in this at all.”

Qi’ra’s smile grew more genuine. It was true. Narith had always protected himself from Imperial scrutiny and, in turn, had protected Qi’ra. That didn’t mean they wouldn’t be found out this time. They very clearly wanted Jyn Erso and they were willing to do anything to get her. That was all Qi’ra needed to know. Her intuitions weren’t always the best. Han had always been the impulsive one of the two, always understood the correct motivations at play more quickly than her even if his judgment was sometimes faulty. But she felt this time that there was something very large at play here, something she didn’t want to mess around with.

Not if she wanted to protect her position and Crimson Dawn’s.

“What would you do if you were in my position?” she asked. 

Narith stilled, eyes widening for the briefest of moments before he forced himself to relax. “Crimson Dawn is strong and so are you. If I was you, I wouldn’t be intimidated into doing something I didn’t want to do. Not that you would ever do that, of course. Your secret is as safe with me as it can be regardless.”

They knew all too well that things could change at a moment’s notice. But at least in this, Qi’ra could be one step ahead of the Empire. “Your faith and continued loyalty will be handsomely rewarded, Narith.” Picking up her personal pad, she tapped in a few commands and smiled anew. “Be sure to check in with Cahl before you leave.”

She would regret losing him, but sacrifices had to be made when her business was on the line. Watching him closely, she didn’t sense that he realized anything was amiss. Good. Let him believe that his reward _would_ be a handsome one. It was a nice thought. One he well deserved.

It was too bad that none under Qi’ra’s many purviews got what they deserved.

No, bad luck and terrible, impossible decisions dogged her step always.

Narith was only the latest in a long line of sufferers.

“Until next we meet, Narith,” she said, burying the guilt deep inside of her where it couldn’t wound her.

Qi’ra had always done what needed doing and this was no different.

There were a billion men like Narith in the galaxy. She needed only to find them.

*

“You look better,” Qi’ra said, finding Jyn again in the medical bay. Sweat curled the strands of hair that framed her face and exertion turned her cheeks a delicate pink that Qi’ra did not allow herself to contemplate too closely. Qi’ra had been watching for a time as Jyn ran around the perimeter of Dryden’s physical therapy room. It wasn’t the most athletic of courses, but run in a circle long enough and you would feel it eventually.

She had, by Qi’ra’s count, jogged around for at least an hour, relentless. And, if the hint of pain around her eyes suggested anything, relentlessly cruel.

“I feel better,” Jyn said, uneasy, and it was at that moment that Qi’ra realized she was in the process of undressing, a towel and fresh clothes stacked on the bed before her. Qi’ra perhaps should have been more embarrassed than she was.

She was, of course, embarrassed. A breach of protocol was a breach of protocol no matter whether Jyn could do anything to her in retaliation or not. And Qi’ra hadn’t thought of much beyond needing to see Jyn, hating the fact that Jyn could continue to isolate herself so thoroughly.

Perhaps it wasn’t fair for Qi’ra to believe Jyn should be grateful at all. Perhaps Jyn made use of her facilities and was as safe here as she could be, but that didn’t mean she had to be appreciative of the fact. And yet, the pettiest, smallest part of Qi’ra wanted some acknowledgment of these facts from her. To take a few liberties in response hadn’t seemed like such a big deal.

At least, not until now, when Qi’ra was confronted with the smooth, toned expanse of Jyn’s biceps and shoulders, the thin tank that hinted at the shape and color of her nipples, the elegant taper of her exposed legs. The damage done to her on Scarif wasn’t written permanently into her skin any longer. The radiation burns had been healed by weeks of bacta treatment, no longer angry and red, mere discolorations that spoke of survival against the worst odds the Empire could throw at her.

Qi’ra was glad for it.

And Qi’ra’s throat dried.

“Does it still hurt?” she asked, the words clumsy in her mouth.

“Yes,” Jyn answered, simple. The word was unadorned and not at all clumsy. Perhaps that was the way of things when the entire truth could be spoken. Qi’ra couldn’t remember what that was like. She hadn’t spoken the entire truth in years, far longer than she could remember.

She’d gotten good at telling lies. But not with Jyn. “I’m sorry.”

“I’ll bet you are,” she replied, turning away. “If you don’t mind, I was going to take a shower.”

Qi’ra couldn’t understand Jyn, not anything about her. Why didn’t she fight? Demand more answers from Qi’ra? Why wouldn’t she look at her? Why wouldn’t she demand to know what Qi’ra was going to do with her?

If she forced the issue, Qi’ra could make the decision.

She was always good at getting out of tight corners.

What game was Jyn playing? And why wasn’t Qi’ra any good at it? Perhaps more importantly, why couldn’t Qi’ra get passed this thing between them? Jyn was nobody to her. Jyn was at her mercy.

Scooping up the clothing and towel, Jyn stepped up to her, tipped her head up in challenge, and then slipped past her. “Excuse me,” she said, belated.

Qi’ra turned to watch her.

Jyn didn’t look back.

*

Qi’ra disengaged the holoprojector that kept permanent track of Jyn from the comfort of her own desk. If Jyn tried to escape, they would know where she was, but Qi’ra found it easier to avoid knowing precisely what Jyn was up to. There was no point if she couldn’t figure out why as well.

None of this made sense.

Her eyes landed on the pad with the Empire’s increasingly generous offer. It would be so very easy to give in. They might even, at this rate, trade away some of their most useful hyperfuel routes for Jyn if the bounty she was racking up would truly be paid.

Every increase felt like a noose tightening around Qi’ra’s throat. There was bound to be a bounty hunter skilled enough to figure out Jyn’s whereabouts. And with that kind of money, it would be worth trying to take on the head of Crimson Dawn.

Sweeping the pad into a drawer, she stood and walked away.

It didn’t make her feel any better, but at least she’d done something, made a symbolic gesture of some sort.

As she roamed the halls, she put the Empire from her mind and Jyn, too, and hoped to got she never found herself in a position such as this again. “Jyn doesn’t matter,” she reminded herself, arms crossed over her chest, head down, a no doubt furious gaze on her face. When she crossed someone’s path, they stayed clear of her, did not ask her questions or offer courtesies. Though she rarely fell into a mood such as this, they knew how to handle it when she did.

Her people were good. They deserved a leader who was strong enough to do what needed doing.

She needed a reason to put Jyn before them.

And Jyn would give one to her.

It didn’t require much of a guess to find Jyn in her quarters. Even waiting to be granted entrance, she knew Jyn was inside, dawdling, pacing, who knew what. Perhaps it was a power play. Perhaps it was something else. And yet it grated on Qi’ra’s nerves all the same. Qi’ra was Jyn’s host, was wasting precious resources in protecting her from the Empire’s ever-widening reach. She could at least act like she was appreciative.

Ringing the chime again, Qi’ra almost prepared herself to input the override.

The guard outside Jyn’s door said nothing.

Before she could do more than consider it, the door slid open. The room was dark. Jyn’s clothing was rumpled and her hair was a tangle around her face. There was a bruised quality to the skin beneath her eyes.

“Go,” Qi’ra said to the guard. With a crisp, clean nod, he strode down the hall. Where he ended up, Qi’ra couldn’t guess, but at this moment, she didn’t care either. As she stepped into the room, she have given less of a damn about anything except the frustrating woman before her.

“Is this how we’re playing it?” Jyn asked. The anger in her voice had a weary, resigned quality to it, like she’d known all along that this was where they’d end up. There was disappointment, too, like she’d expected better of Qi’ra.

Foolish. There was only one time she’d let the angels of her better nature get the better of her and she’d ended up stranded on Corellia for her loyalty. Twice, perhaps, if she counted the Control Zone, her love for Han overriding her common sense in a moment of pure desperation. Hauled back, she’d been thoroughly exposed. Somewhere inside of her was a woman who was willing to sacrifice herself.

Somewhere, too, there was a woman who was willing to betray herself and she was the more recent discovery.

Could Jyn find in Qi’ra what Qi’ra still believed was lost?

“We can play this a lot of ways, Jyn,” Qi’ra said. “How would you like to do it?”

Jyn shrugged and backed further into the room as Qi’ra stepped forward. This was Qi’ra’s domain, even this space, and she walked about it as though she owned it. Which she did. The impotent anger that flared in Jyn’s eyes made Qi’ra aware that this fact had not gone unnoticed. “I just want to go home. I’ll play it however I have to in order to get there.”

Qi’ra smiled, predatory. Her eyes and Jyn’s locked. For a moment, Qi’ra believed she could look into them forever and never see the same sliver of disdain twice. “And where is home? What will you do once you get there? Knowing, of course, that you’re the single most wanted woman in the Empire?”

“What difference does it make to you?”

 _Quite a bit,_ Qi’ra thought, _but not in any way I can explain to you_.

But before Qi’ra could come up with a good enough response, even a plausible lie, Jyn was grabbing hold of the wide collar of Qi’ra’s shirt, pulling her forward. It was so unexpected that Qi’ra nearly stumbled, but Jyn’s strength had fully returned to her. She caught Qi’ra’s weight with ease. And though Qi’ra’s hands went for blades she wasn’t carrying—she might have been weak, but she wasn’t an idiot, any weapon would give Jyn an advantage, but Qi’ra was certain of her own skills in hand-to-hand—they soon found themselves reaching for the soft, smooth skin of Jyn’s throat.

It took Qi’ra a moment to realize that Jyn’s mouth was covering her own and her hands merely cupping the back of her head, fingers tangling in the loose curls of hair around her shoulders. And even though Jyn was biting at Qi’ra’s lips, the sting harsh enough to burn, she wasn’t actually trying to kill Qi’ra.

Not yet anyway.

Or maybe she was and it was Qi’ra who was the foolish one. Then again, if this was how Qi’ra had to die, there were worse ways to go. Heat pulsed inside of her, crested and receded and crested again, the most unstoppable of tides.

Jyn yanked off her boots as Qi’ra stepped out of the flats she always wore around the _First Light_. Jyn didn’t need to explain what she wanted and Qi’ra wasn’t going to ask for clarification.

And anyway, Qi’ra couldn’t help it, she kissed and bit back, pushed Jyn toward the bed, far more comfortable than the beds on most starships. Even here in the plain quarters kept for staff and inconsequential visitors, Qi’ra ensured the appointments were appropriately impressive. And Jyn went willingly enough, pulling back long enough to look up at Qi’ra with amusement and lust.

For the first time ever, Qi’ra was personally glad for her foresight, her need to ensure the image she projected was airtight, even when it included minor details such as this. If this had been a bunk instead, Qi’ra would have been displeased.

As Jyn fell back into the mattress, Qi’ra pulled at the buckles that held her trousers in place, threw the thick, utilitarian cloth to the floor. With so much of Jyn’s skin exposed, Qi’ra grew impatient and hooked her fingers in the fabric of Jyn’s underwear, far softer than the trousers.

“What in the seven hells are you waiting for?” Jyn said, a taunt. A mean-spirited grin crossed her bite-red lips. To punctuate her point, she scooted a little further up the bed and threw her arms out. Her hair fell free of the ponytail she always wore and Qi’ra wanted nothing more than to run her fingers through it.

Qi’ra’s thumb dipped between Jyn’s legs. That last slip of fabric left between Qi’ra and Jyn’s naked body was already wet. “No need to wait for you,” she answered. Her stomach warmed in response and a flood of heat rushed through her to settle between her own thighs. She pushed aside the fabric and circled Jyn’s clit, scraped her nail down further, pressed against Jyn’s slick cunt to tease back and forth across her folds. Jyn was so hot already, a flush climbing her neck in response to Qi’ra’s touch, her words. “You’re ready to go.”

Jyn shuddered, but she stayed silent, watching Qi’ra the entire time. Qi’ra did not look at her in return, focused entirely on this small part of her instead. Finally peeling Jyn’s underwear away, she deposited them with Jyn’s trousers.

“Get up on the bed. Fully,” Qi’ra said. Starting to pull at her own clothing, she disrobed quickly and efficiently. She’d never taken much pleasure in removing her own outfits, not even for an appreciative audience, and Jyn probably wasn’t that. Jyn fumbled for the buttons on her own shirt. “Keep it on.”

Qi’ra liked the stain of red that continued to climb Jyn’s neck, growing more and more noticeable against the pale color of the shirt.

Completely nude, Qi’ra climbed onto the bed and straddled Jyn’s leg, her knee high between Jyn’s legs. Jyn’s muscles were strong and Qi’ra enjoyed the way they bunched and tensed against her. She squeezed her own in turn, delighted in the tiny gasp of surprise that came from Jyn. Her hand found Jyn’s center again, pressed more insistently against it as Qi’ra used her full weight to her advantage. Jyn muttered curses, caught hold of the sheets beneath her, and tipped her head back.

Her hands pushed Jyn’s shirt up her ribs and slid beneath, nails raking over Jyn’s nipples and breasts, leaving behind a cool trail of Jyn’s fluids behind. Beneath the light, it glistened against the taut muscles of her stomach. Her nipples peaked as Qi’ra rolled them between her fingers. And when Qi’ra bent forward to take one in her mouth, Jyn pushed up into that touch, the warmth of Qi’ra’s tongue. Qi’ra might as well have been doing this to herself, so attuned was she to Jyn’s responses. Every jerk and jolt of Jyn’s body, Qi’ra felt in turn.

Her body throbbed with her own aching need as Jyn bucked beneath her, losing every pretense at control as her breath came in more ragged pants, as her thigh muscle tightened and rubbed against Qi’ra’s center. Her knee bent to change the angle and Qi’ra groaned deeply and rocked her hips. Pleasure cascaded through her, more pleasure than she’d felt in a long time, and she was perfectly happy to chase it, damn everything else.

When Jyn tried to reach for her, she grabbed Jyn’s wrists and pinned her down, pressing all of her weight against Jyn to stop her. She sucked at Jyn’s neck, bit and laved her skin as Jyn moaned finally and breathed something that might have been, _fuck_ and _yes_ and _please, please, fuck_. They were no longer curses on Jyn’s lips, but pleas. Jyn’s pulse pounded against the sensitive skin of Qi’ra’s palms, as sure a giveaway as anything of how close she was, why she was so willing to resort to begging.

“Don’t move,” Qi’ra said and let go, allowing her own hands free rein over Jyn’s body, trusting that Jyn would obey her. Qi’ra would take what she wanted from Jyn, would give what she wanted to Jyn, Jyn was enjoying it all the while. She would understand Jyn as much as she was able to, learn every reaction Jyn’s body would give. It wasn’t so easy to do with Qi’ra’s own thoughts pushing her to the one conclusion they’d always been building toward, but she tried. Oh, she tried, touching and tasting as she willed.

Jyn writhed as Qi’ra’s hands skimmed across Jyn’s neck, fingers pressing hard into the bruise she’d already placed there with her mouth, further paling the skin around each finger. Jyn’s thighs tightened again against Qi’ra’s leg, almost drawing a gasp out of Qi’ra, though she was beginning to anticipate Jyn’s actions, her moves.

It felt so good that Qi’ra nearly forgot what she was doing, forgot how good it felt to just make Jyn tense up, not let her get any further than that. She almost wanted to cede control to Jyn, let her bring Qi’ra off in whatever manner that pleased her. The way her hands still twitched, it was clear she wanted to do something.

But no. No. Qi’ra had designs. As her hand travelled up the column of Jyn’s throat, she squeezed, thumb against jugular, fingers curling around the skin behind Jyn’s opposite ear. If her pulse had been obvious before, now it was crystal clear, a fast-moving river, hot to Qi’ra’s touch. Her other arm crossed Jyn’s chest, a steel bar backed by Qi’ra’s weight, forcing her inhalations and exhalations to be just that littlest bit more shallow. She couldn’t help it: she kissed Jyn’s slack, pliant lips.

Jyn’s hands wound in the blankets to keep herself from misbehaving.

Good girl.

Sweat prickled at Qi’ra’s hairline, trailed down her spine. She was so close she could taste it. And so was Jyn, her breathing raspy, labored as Qi’ra held her by the throat. Unable to help it any longer, she threw back her head, groaned softly as she rode Jyn’s thigh, now slippery with her slick. So easy. Perfect in the way nothing was truly perfect.

Gods, but it felt so good. Good to have Jyn this way. Good that Jyn let her.

It was nothing like trust or love.

But it was as close as Qi’ra would ever get.

With an unexpected shout, she came, that simple thought tipping her over the cascading edge of a waterfall. She tumbled through the pleasure of it, shoved her knee up and forced Jyn over the edge, too. She kissed Jyn deeply again, swallowed her cries, released the hold on her throat. Swallowed, too, her gasps.

When she opened her eyes, Jyn was looking up at her.

Qi’ra couldn’t quite figure out what it was Jyn saw, but it was different from before.

When Qi’ra brushed Jyn’s hair from her eyes, Jyn didn’t flinch away.

“You can go,” Qi’ra said, quiet, not at all the words she meant to say. “I’ll make a shuttle ready for you.” This wasn’t what she meant to say at all, but she couldn’t stop herself. “I won’t be able to keep you safe from the Empire. They’ll be looking for you.”

_If they ever find out I had you and didn’t turn you over…_

“I know,” Jyn said, shifting slightly, pulling Qi’ra toward her. She seemed hesitant, as though she didn’t quite know what to do with herself either. At least Qi’ra could admire Jyn. What could Jyn possibly see in Qi’ra?

Nothing. Not a damned thing.

Tensing, Qi’ra got to her feet and gathered her clothes. She couldn’t let Jyn show her any kindnesses. Not now. Not even if they meant nothing to Jyn to offer them.

Jyn didn’t seem like the kind of woman who offered kindnesses, but it hardly mattered. She’d gotten out of Qi’ra what she wanted. Perhaps she just hoped to return the favor in whatever small way she could manage to concoct in the moment. Or maybe she thought it might get her something more.

Had she known? Had she kissed Qi’ra thinking…?

But what did it matter?

Qi’ra stepped into her pants, threw her shirt on and arranged it as best she could. Her feet slid easily into her shoes. “I want you gone by the morning.”

Jyn’s brow furrowed and although she opened her mouth to speak, she stayed silent and closed her lips again. Pulling down her shirt, she crossed her legs and covered herself with her arms in her lap. There was a ring of pink around her neck that Qi’ra’s fingers itched to touch.

“And if you’re found, it’s on you.”

Jyn nodded and bit her lip, but if nothing else, she seemed to understand the deal.

Qi’ra was glad for that at least.

Because as she left Jyn’s room, she didn’t think she’d have been able to explain it further.

*

Jyn was gone. Just like Qi’ra demanded.

“I want all record of Jyn’s presence on this ship and her departure scrubbed. Complete deletion. She was never here. Are we understood?” she asked her flight crew, eyeing each one in turn until they nodded their acquiescence.

Any one of them was a potential leak.

It was a risk Qi’ra chose to take. If the Empire came, they would pay for it in blood.

It was, she decided, no different from any other day.


End file.
